


Weather the Storm

by ineswrites



Series: Kryptonite [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Drunkenness, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-01 11:43:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18799666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineswrites/pseuds/ineswrites
Summary: Brock sighs. "So, I was ghosting you for a moment," he admits, and Jack scoffs, because there's a huge difference between a moment and two years. "But I'm not now. We're talking.""Yeah, too bad I'm not sure if I want to talk to you anymore."





	Weather the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> There's a huge time jump, a little more than the mentioned 2 years.

He's fought so hard to be allowed back, but now, as he's trapped in a safe house with Brock opening yet another beer, Jack wonders if this really is where he should be. The rest of the team has already retired, but Jack's gotten tricked into taking the first watch, and Brock has enough beer left to stay up for another couple of hours, unless he passes out first. The odds for that are low though; Jack knows too well how much drink Brock can take.

Brock looks up from his bottle and offers a lopsided smirk. He pushes one of the remaining full bottles across the table towards Jack. "Won't you have even one?"

Jack grits his teeth. "We're on the job, Rumlow," he says. "Neither of us should have any. You're not even supposed to have these with you."

Brock sucks in air as if the words stung him. "That's cold."

Jack shakes his head at him with his eyes narrowed. To think he used to admire this man. It's amazing how time changes one's perspective on things.

He thinks back to all the people that had warned him against Brock in the past. They hadn't been exactly friendly about it, so he ignored them, but now he wishes he had at least taken their words under consideration instead of dismissing them, thinking they were just jealous.

He had been young and so very naive.

Brock pushes himself up, his hands supporting him against the table; he may be able to finish all the beer, but he's definitely drunk, swaying on his legs as he takes the couple steps that separate him from Jack. He shoves the bottle into his hand, and Jack catches it only because he doesn't want the crash of breaking glass to wake up the guys.

"Drink," Brock says, falling on a chair beside Jack's. "That's an order. You need to loosen up."

Jack scoffs in disagreement, but he unscrews the cap and takes a sip. He knows he doesn't have to follow any orders that violate professional ethic, but once again, he doesn't want any of the guys to wake up and listen in on a fight that would undoubtedly ensue.

Brock grins. "Yeah, that's what I'm talking about."

Jack scowls. Brock looks at him in confusion, like he doesn't know where Jack's hostility is coming from, and although he might not have the best social skills, he's not stupid either. He knows _exactly_ what this is about. Not that he's eager to admit to it and make amends. No, he's acting like nothing had happened between them, like the past two years didn't take place and it wasn't him that actively opposed Jack coming back to STRIKE. And Jack's so sick of it, of Brock playing either stupid or innocent, all he's dreaming about is to throw the beer in his goddamn face and leave.

But he can't. He may be pissed, but he's also responsible, and he can't mess up on his first mission since the accident.

"What's the matter?" Brock asks, nudging him with his elbow. "I thought you liked Budweiser."

Jack would have gone as far as to say it was his favorite once upon a time; that is, until he realized it's in fact _Brock's_ favorite and it tastes exactly like any other shitty beer one can buy in a discount retailer.

"It's not the beer," he murmurs, picking at the label with his thumbnail.

"Yeah no shit it isn't, you've been acting like something crawled up your ass all day," Brock snarls, but before Jack can react to it, he cracks a smile and leans in. "I know what this's about. You miss me."

Just before Brock manages to grab him and kiss him, Jack shoves him off and leaps to his feet, dropping his bottle in the process. It lands on the already stained carpet, spilling its contents, but doesn't break. Brock watches it in astonishment.

"Why in the _goddamn fuck_ ," Jack says, his voice trembling, and he swallows thickly, "would I miss you?"

When Brock looks up at him, there's a wary expression present that he doesn't manage to hide in time. "Well—you've been avoiding me."

Considering Brock has been more than a little busy with his new boy toy—a handsome, fit brunet that makes Jack look like a scarecrow in comparison—it is surprising that he paid enough attention to even notice. But it's true; Jack has been trying to give him the taste of his own medicine not so much by ostentatiously ignoring him but simply not seeking him out. It is different from how he had been acting before the accident, so Brock must have picked up on it nonetheless.

"Does it surprise you?"

"Well." Brock pulls his hair back, and Jack knows it's a nervous gesture. He picks up his bottle again. "I know our first meeting after you got back wasn't very fortunate."

It's true; on his first day back, Jack walked in on Brock with his tongue down the mentioned boy toy's throat. But that was just another blow in the series of them throughout the past two years. A nail to the coffin of Jack's love for him, really.

"So that's what this is about? Your boyfriend's too young to be on STRIKE Alpha, and you got a little lonely?" Jack's voice is dripping venom.

Brock scowls. "He's not my _boyfriend_ , we're just fooling around. He doesn't matter."

"Does he know about it?" Jack quirks his eyebrows questioningly, but then he raises his hand to stop Brock from answering. "Never mind. I don't care whose tonsils you're exploring and why. If you think this is about me being jealous, then I don't have words for how stupid you are."

Brock looks offended at that, and it is a little satisfying, though not enough for Jack to want to continue this conversation. Unfortunately, his watch doesn't end for another hour, so as long as Brock remains in the kitchen, he doesn't have much of a choice.

"What else could you be mad about?" Brock turns his head to take a drink, and if Jack wasn't already angry, he would be now at how dismissive that gesture is.

"You really think I didn't find out that it was you that made it difficult for me to come back on the team?"

Brock stays silent for a moment like he's indeed surprised Jack knows about it. Then he licks his lips, shrugs, and still not looking at him, says, "But you're back anyway, ain't ya?"

"No thanks to you. You had no reason to just not allow me back. I passed all the tests with flying colors. I didn't go through two years of rehabilitation just to get fired. I'm not worse than I was at my job, so why did you treat me like damaged goods, hm?"

"Come on, Jackie, you know SHIELD wouldn’t take you back without my say-so. You're right, we tested you, and you were excellent, so I accepted you." Brock raises his hands in a shrug as if this is all just a big misunderstanding.

"So what, you thought I'd have a sip of beer and be all over you? Because you had no choice but to accept me? That's not even my biggest problem with you, _Rumlow_." He accentuates his last name, because Brock doesn't get to call him _Jackie_ like nothing has changed between them. "I was waiting for you." His voice changes, and he doesn't like how vulnerable it makes him sound. "First at the hospital. I was lying in my bed, broken and doped up on meds and so very sure you'd show up any day now. Then I was discharged, but I kept making up excuses for you. After all, what was the point of you coming to the hospital if I was barely conscious most of the time? Maybe you did come to see me, but I was asleep? So I went back home, and I spent the next year waiting for you to at least text me, asking how I was. And the year after that I spent trying to accept that you never would. That despite all those years we spent together, I mean _nothing_ to you." His voice cracks on the last word, and so he cuts himself off. Brock's not looking at him, but he must be moved by his words, because the knuckles of his hand that's gripping the bottle have turned white.

"I asked you when you came back," he murmurs, and Jack is so surprised by the stupidity of this statement that he laughs.

"So what, you think that makes us okay? We're not okay. _I_ am not okay."

Brock sighs. "So, I was ghosting you for a moment," he admits, and Jack scoffs, because there's a huge difference between a moment and two years. "But I'm not now. We're talking."

"Yeah, too bad I'm not sure if I want to talk to you anymore." Jack looks at his watch. "Look, I'm tired, and you're obviously not done drinking and surely you won't mind taking over the watch for me? Thanks."

He walks away towards the remaining empty bedroom before Brock manages to stop him. He closes the door and undresses swiftly despite his hands trembling from the emotions he has been holding back. He's been so furious, but now that he finally confronted Brock, he's just hurt and regretful about all the time and energy he wasted on a man who didn't deserve his love.

As he’s pulling back the covers to slip into bed, the door flies open, and Brock walks in. Jack spins on his heel to face him, his hand twitching, but there is no weapon around that he can grab. He weighs his options—before the accident, he could take Brock in hand-to-hand on a good day, but now, there are days when breathing hurts. On the other hand, Brock's so drunk he’s barely keeping his balance. Jack eyes the bed; if it comes to violence, he can throw the covers over Brock's head.

"I see you've been waiting for me," Brock quips, but he's not smirking. His eyes travel down Jack's exposed body, lingering on the postsurgical scars.

"What do you want, Brock?" Jack tries to sound exasperated instead of wary.

Brock's eyes flick back to Jack's face. "I have something to tell you, and trust me, you want to hear it."

“I was just going to bed, so hopefully it can wait—”

"No, it can't," Brock interrupts harshly, but then he lowers his head as if in an apology. "I really feel that it's now or never."

Jack sighs heavily. He'd like to be petty and say he doesn't want to hear it. That nothing Brock can say will fix the situation, so it's better if he saves his breath. That Jack had wasted enough time for him already.

But the thing is, he _wants_ to hear what Brock has to say, even if it's not an apology like it should be. The truth is, he missed him even when he was furious at him, and he does so even more now. After all this time, Brock's still his weakness, so yes, he will hear him out.

"You have five minutes," he says.

But Brock doesn't say anything. He keeps staring at Jack with his eyes wide as if stunned.

Jack clears his throat. "Four minutes."

Brock blinks and nods. He turns his head away, chewing on his lip, and when he looks back at Jack, his eyes are glassy, and his voice sounds hoarse but steady when he says, "I _was_ at the hospital. You didn't know because you were still unconscious."

Jack doesn't realize he's been holding his breath until Brock's admission forces it out of him; he slowly sits down on the bed, looking at Brock expectantly. "You got my curiosity."

Brock takes a seat beside him, so close that Jack can feel his body heat. "I had been there since you were admitted. I was practically living there while you were fighting for your life. I spent four days on a diet of coffee and energy drinks until I was forced to go home by our team or I'd've ended up in the E.R. myself." He pauses, his unfocused gaze fixed on a point above Jack's shoulder, and Jack's too surprised to say anything. "You died, did they tell you that?"

Jack slowly nods.

"Did they tell you that you died twice?"

This time Jack stays still; no, they didn't. Apparently it didn't make much of a difference, not to the hospital staff anyway. On a second thought, Jack doesn't think it does to him either, but evidently, it does to Brock.

"I was there for both times. And the only thing that scared me more was the fact that it did scare me. Going crazy from worry was never the part of the plan. I was never supposed to care about you, certainly not this much." Brock takes in a shaky breath. "And I guess I always knew deep inside, just refused to face it, because it was a hell of a problem. Even back then, when you found out about Hydra. I should've killed you, but I couldn't. I didn't want to. I was compromised."

"You were lucky I was stupid enough to follow you to every shady organization," Jack realizes.

"Right?" Brock sighs. "So, I was forced to go back home by Bourne and Mercer, they told me you were stable, that you were going to be okay, so I could rest... And once I slept a day away and had some food in my stomach, I got really scared of how much I had flipped. The brass knew, of course, they weren't any less displeased than I was, so they helped me... They sent me on an undercover mission, six months without contact. When I got back, you weren't there, and I went back to my old ways... Thought I was okay again. But each new guy never felt right, I kept comparing them to you, and—it was never the same."

"I'm so sorry for you," Jack deadpans.

Brock nods as if in agreement. "I'm not telling you this to get you to pity me, Jack. I want you to know exactly what was happening. I don't want you to think I'm some psychopathic asshole. I don't want you to be mad at me."

"It's a little late for that."

A shadow of hurt passes through Brock's face, and Jack's surprised that it doesn't impress him at all. He's been feeling oddly desensitized since Brock started talking.

"That's fair," Brock admits, "but at least hear me out till the end. Now, you're mad because I didn't want you back on the team—Jack, of course I didn't. I never want to get through something like that again. I did it to protect you."

"No, you were protecting yourself," Jack snarls. "You don't care what happens to me, you care about how it affects you." He gets up and motions for Brock to do the same. "I heard enough. You should go now."

"No, wait." Before Jack manages to react, Brock closes his shoulder in a vice grip. "Jack, I'm sorry," he says, his voice turning desperate. "I'm sorry I was too scared to love you. I'm not anymore. Let me fix this. Let's start over."

Jack's head buzzes oddly as if he's the drunk one. He stares back at Brock; at his wet eyes barely containing his tears; at his lower lip trembling ever so slightly. He looks years younger this way, and it's so weird to see him vulnerable. It had always been Jack who was the vulnerable one after all; it had been Jack who was hurting and crying, while Brock was standing above him cold and cruel. That's what Jack sees when he thinks about Brock; a nonchalant figure with a whip in one hand and a smoldering cigarette in the other. It's a figure Jack should hate, but it's so familiar, and he had always associated it with heat between his legs, so it's not much of a surprise that he's feeling that heat again at the mere memory. He wishes he could reverse their roles now, that he could be the cold and cruel one; to backhand Brock so hard he falls and literally kick him out of the bedroom. But he's never been this person, has never wanted to be.

"Jack?" Brock rasps when he doesn't get any answer. Jack hasn't moved away, so he takes a step closer and rests his head against his chest.

The way Jack's heart leaps when he feels Brock's body pressed against his and his arms sneaking around his waist isn't a surprise either. His resentment didn't go anywhere, but after those couple years, no matter how many times he tried to stop, telling himself it was over, he still loves Brock, and he's ready to go back to what they had.

It doesn't mean he'll make it easy for him though. With a firm hand against Brock's shoulder, he pushes him away.

"It'll take more than a drunk apology to get back in my good graces," he says.

Brock nods as if he didn't expect anything less.

"We'll talk about it in the morning," Jack continues when Brock doesn't say anything. "When you're sober. We'll see if you'll be equally eager to apologize then."

Brock ducks his head as he nods again, but his grimace doesn't escape Jack's attention. Jack can't help but smirk; he's going to enjoy watching him squirm. Maybe he'll make him lick his boots—literally.

Maybe he does have a sadistic bone in him after all.   



End file.
